


Ghosts & Demons of the Nights Long Past

by RapidfireEcho



Category: Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trigger words, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-28 05:50:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6317068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RapidfireEcho/pseuds/RapidfireEcho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Houndstrike had arrested himself. He killed bots, he was consciously aware of what he was doing, but he couldn't stop. He deemed himself a monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts & Demons of the Nights Long Past

A bulky blood red Wolfticon sighed. He hated himself. He shut his fiery red optics and lifted his helm, and let loose a long, low, mournful howl that was heard by all for miles.

He was, emphasis on  __ **was** , a brilliant tactician, but that was before he was captured during the war. A group of Autobots- who, by the way, did not have even the slightest bit of anything resembling permission to do this- captured him and several other primitives to see if they could weponize them, as they saw them as mere beasts that needed to be tamed and controled. 

He was one of the few who they'd tortured that didn't hold all Autobots responsible for their pain and suffering, although bots had to watch what they did and said around him and what he considered his or who he considered his pack. He was territorial, always had been, but it was pushed to its absolute limits thanks to the Autobots who had tried to turn him and hundreds others into weapons, mindless, drone-like, dangerous. 

And his triggers only became more numerous after the Decepticons captured him. He was one of the only Wolfticons who had accomplished keeping his own t-cog, and therefore his beast mode and his true wolfish connection to other Wolfticons he trusted.

That's why they wanted him.

They tore at him, beat him, but he matched them, blow for blow. They stabbed at his limbs, he sank his fangs into theirs, and after some time of this form of interaction, he began to enjoy the feeling of sending his colossal, jagged fangs into their weak protoforms, the sent of spilled Energon, the taste of it on his glossa as it splattered his fangs, if a single word was spoken, he ripped apart the nearest thing with Energon flowing through it. There were hundreds of words that would make his irises shrink to near microscopic pin-pricks and his optics narrow to dangerous red slits.

 


End file.
